


he was my other half; he was my life

by hanzios



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 04:55:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20091610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanzios/pseuds/hanzios
Summary: Martín walked around the chapel; every step of his, a memory. It was painful and ecstatic all at once.





	he was my other half; he was my life

**Author's Note:**

> i have loved palermo ever since frame #1 and now i'm making myself sad over his unrequited love with berlin....... enjoy

He never thought he’d have to be in that room again. Hell, he never thought he’d ever even be near that monastery again in his life. But there he was, in the middle of the chapel that once was his home, a cascade of memories crushing down on him.

Martín found it hard to walk around the cluttered floor, his feet still memorizing every step he used to take as he’d fly from the blackboard to the desk. Their belongings were still there, covered in dusty off-white blankets. He didn’t notice the rest of the gang leaving for the quarters, his eyes focused on the picture frames lining an ancient drawer. They were untouched; Andrés left them that way before going to the Royal Mint.

It was mostly pictures of Tatiana and Andrés. He didn’t have time to put away the pictures after their inevitable divorce, mind way too hyper-fixated on the coming heist with his brother. Martín found a lone picture on the back of the frames, its brass edges starting to rust from age. He grabbed it with a shaky hand, wiping the glass with his sleeve and bringing it to his face.

The photograph was six years old, taken in Palermo, Italy, after he and Andrés had stolen a hundred thousand euros and gotten away with it. The two of them were standing in front of an old cathedral, dressed in dark jackets and trench coats. Andrés had placed an arm around him, Martín grinning from ear to ear. He can still remember that vacation very fondly. He smiled before putting the photograph in the middle of the other photos.

Martín walked around the space a bit more; every step of his, a memory. It was painful and ecstatic all at once.

Among the boxes in one corner, he found a relic that almost makes his heart skip a beat. It was an old record player that Andrés had bought from a high-end antique dealer. And inside another box, vinyl records enclosed carefully in their cases. It doesn’t take long for Martín to set it up and play one of his and Andres’ favourite songs.

The dark-haired man had a taste for classics, but what he’d never admit was that every once in a while, when Martín was working late in the chapel, he’d come in and join him, dancing. Martín would drop the chalk and laugh as he and Andrés would move around their stacks of papers and large paintings. The late-night dancing would happen more often on days before a robbery, calming down the two of them as they listened to ABBA and a-ha.

But now, Martín was dancing alone to Men at Work, his eyes closed firmly as he swayed his hips and loosened his shoulders. He imagined his dearest friend and the love of his life dancing in front of him, like old times, matching his every step with a sly grin plastered on his handsome face. Andrés never left Martín’s dreams, not in the three years he’s been gone. Martín often wondered if he’d ever love like that again.

The answer, he thought, would always be no. A love like that only came once a lifetime.

And Martín… he let his love go.

“Martín?”

Silence. He continued dancing slowly.

“_Martín_.”

“_Si_, Andrés?”

When he opened his eyes again, they were wet with tears. He didn’t even realize he’d been crying, and two songs had already passed. He looked at the direction of the voice and saw Sergio standing there with a look of pity in his eyes. Martín _hated_ being the recipient of that look.

He immediately wiped at his face with the back of his hand. “How long have you been standing there?”

Sergio guiltily gulped. “Long enough. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Martín nodded, a sickeningly fake smile on his face. “Of course, _querido_. I just… found our records and needed a moment to…” – cry – “…think.”

The bearded man smiled softly, always too kind to be prejudiced. “I didn’t know he liked to listen to disco music.”

“He would’ve preferred it if we kept it a secret between us.” Martín winked, making Sergio chuckle slightly. “If this plan works, he’d be so proud of you, Sergio.” He smiled at the younger man.

Sergio didn’t miss a beat. “He’d be proud of you, too.”

A dreadful thought suddenly sunk in his brain – something he never fully accepted before, but was highly aware of now. Martín was suddenly enveloped in the thought of having to do this heist – _their_ heist – without having Andrés doing it with them, by his side. His heart ached completely at having to lead the gang inside the Bank of Spain, when it should have been him… it should have been _them_.

But all he can do now is carry on the plan. Carry on Andrés’ legacy.

One last act of love – a confession – even if it was ten years too late.


End file.
